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Here is a beautiful poem written by Ellen Cline for two of our wonderful Therapists, Suparna and Beth.  In 2008 Suparna and Beth treated Ellen’s father Robert Cline.  He was suffering terribly and he came to see Suparna to be treated.   Suparna and Beth worked their magic and Robert thrived from their care.  Check out this beautiful poem Ellen Cline wrote for her father Robert.

 

The Tale of the Epic Battle Betwixt the Ever-Wicked Ranks of Pain and the Ever-valiant digits of the Hands On. The Brave, The Mighty, The Victorious. As Taken Down By The Hands of The One Ellen Cline In This Month of August in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eight

O, the Ranks of Pain encamped
In the battleground of the arm
Hacking, looting pillaging they
Harbingers of harm
O the Ranks of Pain encamped
Merrily set in to stay
Little knowing, never guessing
Suparna’s arrived today
Oh, Suparna’s arrived today!

How gleefully they hack the nerves–
Those ranks and Ranks of Pain!
How wickedly they weaken
Every muscle, each membrane…
O the Ranks of Pain encamped
Too long here have they stayed
Little knowing, never guessing
Beth’s arrived today
Oh, Beth’s arrived today!

O what rotten joy they take in
Cramping up the neck!
O the vise like grasping fingers
Tingling at their call and beck
O the Ranks of Pain encamped
Wreak havoc everywhere
“Who will take them on?” We cry.
Hands on responds, “We dare!”

He lies there jabbed and stabbed
Smushed and pulled and shaken
Meanwhile Ranks of Pain beneath
Will soon be overtaken!
Retreat, retreat!  They cry in woe,
Those vicious Ranks of Pain.
And all now retreating, file out
Into my dad’s elbow.

These bruises? Battle-scars they are,
the blood of pain’s foul army spilled
As under skillful fingers ranks
Our ranks fade and fall – are killed
Above the gruesome scene is carried

Quite normal conversation
And elbows on his back expel
more Pain – with deliberation.

Retreat, retreat!  They can’t escape
Her ever-pressing hand.
And the bugles can only play “Taps”
In Pain’s rough rugged band.
Their death in near- for oxygen
Is flowing through the veins
And in the cool fresh air of health
Their determination wanes.

There’s no escape through the Outlet
Thoracic –
it’s fortified now and is quite elastic!
It’s the Brachial Plexus they rush to
next-
But arriving, Ranks turn back,
perplexed.
Retreat, retreat! And thus they swerve
Into the realm of the Ulnar Nerve.
Yet even there they cannot stay –
Its sheath’s quite sturdy and will not fray!

There’s nowhere left now to retreat!
Muscles grow strong in their places–
Neves shine bright and happy faces–
Fingers stretch and tie shoe-laces–
Necks now free of ice and braces–
And body shows but faintest traces
Of those wicked ones, the Ranks of Pain.

O, the Ranks of Pain now routed
From the battle ground of Dad
No more hacking, looting, pillaging they
No more living on in dread.
Type on, father, type on!
And, bring those groceries in!
The fight’s been fought,
The foe retreats –
Hands On has won again!

Shana Albert